


Hero's Shadow

by Smul_shinya



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Brain Damage, Brainwashing, Coma, Crisis Core Era (Compilation of FFVII), Eye Trauma, Heavy Angst, Human Experimentation, Hurt No Comfort, It's All Hojo's (Compilation of FFVII) Fault, Medical Trauma, Mentioned Cloud Strife, Nibelheim (Compilation of FFVII), Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Canon Compliant, Psychological Torture, Sephiroth (Compilation of FFVII) Needs A Hug, Shinra Company, Torture, Vivisection, Warning: Hojo (Compilation of FFVII), Wings, Wutai (Compilation of FFVII), Zack Fair & Sephiroth Friendship, poor zack fair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:07:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24264820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smul_shinya/pseuds/Smul_shinya
Summary: When Nibelhiem doesn't catch on fire and Sephiroth is announced dead, what is left for Hojo but the body of a presumed dead SOLDIER first class.He may have lost his prized creation, but who says he can't make another one...
Comments: 27
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

“Zackary Milo Fair, SOLDIER first class.” Hojo hummed, eyeing the thick file that detailed the young man’s life. It was suspended in the glowing mako tank across from him. The doctor stalked around the room, going through the pages with little regard for his silent audience.

“It says that you were found by Turk Tseng in Gongaga at the age of ten years old.” He looked up, seeing those weary eyes open up. He found them exhilarating. He had created those eyes. They were not the pure color that Sephiroth bore, but they were special in it of themselves. The third generation of SOLDIER. They were hazy, bubbles occasionally obscuring its face as it exhaled into the thick green fluid.

“A knack for fighting.” He mused, removing the small photo clipped into the file. It showed a small boy with fluffy black hair. it was pure, as most children were. Untarnished and untouched. “The Turks believed that you rivaled Genesis and Angeal when they were at your age. Awfully bold assumption.” He smirked, looking up to see the mako eyes following him. The tank restricted most of its senses—it was supposed to infuse it with Jenova’s essence and it needed no distractions for that. Still, there was some indication that the sound of his voice penetrated the liquid barrier. The specimen would turn its head to try and follow Hojo, hands moving sluggishly towards the glass barrier.

“I suppose you were excited at the time. Believed you would be a hero? We even have your… “application”. They gave you the illusion of choice. Although a child with natural fighting ability, which they compared to that of two of the elite members of SOLDIER, you had no choice. Had you refused, you would have been taken by force.” The specimen's eyes widened a little bit, searching for the truth. It's hands moved up slowly, touching the wall that separated them. Hojo clicked his tongue, walking closer to look at the youthful face.

“You are all we have left, you know?” He closed the file, setting it aside. “Angeal has died, Genesis degraded, and you… you managed to kill Sephiroth. There isn’t even a body to recover.” He shook his head in shock, placing his hand against the glass. “So what is so special about you. How could you defeat my greatest creation when you are nothing but an average child from a no-name village?” The specimen's hands pulled away, fear flashing momentarily through it.

“Ah, well. We have plenty of time ahead of us.” Hojo smiled a gnarly expression that twisted the creases of his face. “For now, get your rest.” He pressed a command on the pod’s control system and watched sedatives be injected into the mako. Tomorrow, they would begin to immerse it in Jenova cells. The specimen thrashed a bit, feeling the heavy drug shut down its system. Hojo watched impassively, impressed vaguely that the specimen still had the energy to fight, even with the nasty wound. The scientist stood there and watched until the specimen went still, held gently by the mako. Tomorrow, he would find out what made this specimen so special.


	2. Rebirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EYE STUFF WARNING  
> I mean its not that bad but its kinda gross. Sorry bout that :D

_…War hero General Sephiroth H. Crescent and recently promoted commander Zackary Milo Fair have both been reported dead after a recent peace mission to Wutai went arrive. Shinra officials have been unwilling to give comments, however there is talk of another war with Wutai. We're going now to Shinra Headquarters where President Shinra is-…_

Hojo growled, switched the radio off, glancing over at the tank where the specimen floated listlessly in the Mako chamber. It had been there for the past day, having woken up only at the very beginning. Now it was silent—asleep perhaps, or unconscious. Either way, it was easier to handle this way. Hojo stared at the wound in its chest. It should have been fatal, a clean strike from Masamune, in the chest and out the back. The work of his most prized creation. And yet, this simple creature survived and Sephiroth was gone. He couldn’t fathom the disappearance of his creation. His work. For over two decades.

His fist slammed into the metal table, jostling the vials and spilling sheets of paper onto the ground. He distantly heard the squeak of some tech unaccustomed to his outbursts. His free hand ran through his greasy hair, gazing at the two files. Zackary Milo Fair. Sephiroth H. Crescent. Trembling fingers touched the crisp file. Hadn’t Sephiroth at one point been his son? He had thought, momentary though it may have been, of giving Lucretia a home away from Midgar. Of visiting on the weekends and seeing his son—not his creation. How fleeting that fantasy had been—how unfulfilling. And yet, it lingered. He pictured the three of them happy, a normal life. Now Sephiroth was merely a memory, a chapter of his life limited to journals and a thousand-page file. None of it felt like enough. Not enough data, not enough information. All that time molding his creation into something worthwhile, all those years wasting time on a project that hadn’t even come to fruition! He couldn’t even recreate their previous success! Genesis and Angeal were absolute failures!

No, no he couldn’t give up. Sephiroth had survived even when most evidence suggested he should have perished in childbirth. He had flourished as the strongest man alive and had been instrumental in founding the SOLDIER program. It had been wildly successful. He had to believe that. There was success to be found in the integration of Jenova cells into human fetii. He didn’t have access to those right now, but this specimen held vestiges of his protocol. He was the last string tied to Sephiroth.

He stood up, walking over to gaze into the chamber.

“Empty the chamber and prep him on my table now.” He shouted at the techs, frightening them into movement. The younger scientists scurried around and for a moment the madman felt sentimental, remembering Lucretia scrambling around at every bark and command. She was so eager to please, and that truly had been her downfall. Sephiroth was her living legacy, and now he was gone. Something about that felt wrong. Not the obsessive part, but something genuinely sad. The last parts of Lucretia were slipping through his fingers.

He heard the thud as the body fell against the glass.

“Careful!” He snapped, startling the closest tech. "Or it will be your body in that chamber next!" They didn’t let the body fall again.

He watched the nameless techs lay the body down. The body was stripped of the soldier uniform, still dripping with green Mako. Now it was bare and something primal stirred in the scientist. Perhaps this was what great artists felt before painting a masterpiece. This body was not new or untarnished like Sephiroth had been, but there was something pure about the specimen. It's black hair splayed around him like oil, the mako in its system already trying to heal what should have been a fatal wound. This would be his encore, a performance to rival that of Sephiroth. Zack Fair had died and left behind specimen Z who would be the latest—and most successful-- vessel of Jenova cells yet.

He walked over to the cooler slowly, pulling out the vials with the delicacy of a mother. These vials would be the beginning of his latest experiment. A rebirth, if one were to wax poetically about the matter. He approached the table, scattering his underlings who had managed to strap and secure the SOLDIER. It was garish really, trying to halt innovation, to stall the inevitable evolution of mankind. He pulled an alcohol swab off a cart, swabbing the area above its slow beating heart. He pressed the syringe in and watched as the specimen gave its first sign of life, bucking against the intrusion. Hojo watched, hand steady against the specimen as he pressed the plunger down, watching the viscous purple blood funnel straight into its heart.

The monitors around it began to light up, the specimen’s heart thundering and stalling under his hand. He watched, nodding at the frantic techs who gave the specimen a shot of adrenaline, waiting those long beats until the heart staggered back into a normal sinus rhythm. “The first of many.” He murmured to his audience of one, watching the eyelashes begin to flutter. He would need to begin, would need to reduce this specimen to ash, and build it up into greatness. His hand lingered on the X scar marring its cheek. They would need skin grafts, Mako, and more Jenova cells to begin.

“Set up a feeding tube, I.V., and catheter. It also needs a central line. Everything we need for long term sedated care. Keep the sedation levels constant—it was a SOLDIER, and it should not be underestimated.”

~~~

The specimen had finally begun to show signs of integration with the Jenova cells. Its muscle volume was increasing but its body was losing weight too fast to compensate. It still looked painfully like it's former self.

The black hair, the mako tainted eyes.

It was revolting.

It had been isolated inside the mako chamber for a month. The wound had fully healed, leaving behind a gruesome scar.

It was ugly, a mar on his canvas that he wanted gone. His hands shook as he stared at the specimen, anger roiling his gut. This was supposed to be his prized creation and it was nothing but a lie. It was a stupid replacement. How could he have thought this worthless creature would even come close to replacing Sephiroth? It was nothing but a dog that had been plucked off the streets. It was garish. Abdominal. 

He found himself taking calming breaths, flipping through his notes. He could change all of that. He would have to. This wasn't merely an experiment--without Sephiroth he was worthless. Those years of research boiled down into his notes, but he needed to produce results. He needed Sephiroth back! He could do that. His breaths fell heavy, fogging the polished steel table as he leaned over the newly compiled research.

This past month he hadn’t merely been waiting, but researching. Looking for the proper ways to remake _his_ Sephiroth. He glanced at the chamber and scowled. The Jenvoa cells were showing enhancements but that face, that body--it was all wrong. It didn't resemble Sephiroth in the slightest! Those days and nights of convincing himself that his obsession was back in his grasp fell down the drain every time he looked at that damned face with an ever-present smile. Sephiroth didn't _smile._ Sephiroth didn't _feel._ He shouted out orders, not really knowing what he was saying but trusting his own mind.

The techs were moving again, transferring the creation onto the surgical table and getting it settled.

He walked over, pulling gloves on before carding through the thick black hair.

This copy. This _fake_.

No, he would change it so he needn’t look at this atrocity.

He took out a small scalpel, beginning to lightly crosshatch across the boy’s skull. He could dye it—he’d thought about it, but that wouldn’t be permanent and it wouldn’t be the same. No, Sephiroth’s hair was unique—it had never been cut. A symbol of his birthright. A tech began to rub Jenova cells into the wounds created by the scalpel. It was questionable, he had never wasted Jenova cells like this before. But this was special. He injected the hairline with small shots of the cells before he wrapped the specimen’s head up.

The retractor was next. He placed it around the eye, keeping the eyelid placed back. The eyes were still ringed with Mako but there was the real color hidden behind it. A purplish brown.

Disgusting.

He pulled the remaining two syringes from his pocket, angling it down into the eye. The pupils were twitching but normal for a coma patient. He angled the shot straight into his pupil, knowing exactly where to find the optic nerve.

The body shuddered beneath his manipulation, the specimen taking a shocked breath in. Perhaps the pain was beginning to rouse it—it wasn't hidden knowledge that SOLDIERS processed medicine faster, but everyone was unique.

“Increase sedation.” He ordered, transfixed by the way the eye shuddered around the syringe. Was it aware of what was happening? Did it know that it had died in that reactor, sstrung up by Sephiroth's sword? Or did it think that perhaps it was safe... It would be an interesting study, to document the mental capacity of someone under these conditions. Unfortunately, that study would have to wait. Emotions and feelings didn't matter in the end, not if Sephiroth was any proof.

The plunger emptied finally and he retracted the long needle, letting the eyelid fall back into place. The specimen was groaning softly, its chest heaving every couple of breaths as if there were words trapped inside. He watched, waiting to see if the SOLDIER had anything pertinent to say.

“Clo…..” The specimen choked out, coughing up Mako into the oxygen mask pressed over its face. The techs moved to increase sedation even more but Hojo held up his hand, transfixed by the voice. There was something there that reminded him of Sephiroth. Something he couldn't put his finger on. It wasn't like he hadn't had many men and women on his table before, but this SOLDIER would be Sephiroth's legacy. Did he know that? The specimen tried a few more times, variations of clow, as if that meant anything. Finally, Hojo released an annoyed sigh.

Written off as delirious ramblings, Hojo prepared and injected the other eye, allowing the techs to carefully bandage his face up, ensuring its eyes wouldn’t open. They needed the Jenova cells to penetrate it from every angle. It started at its heart and hadn’t killed it—despite several long nights of seizures and one stroke. Luckily the brain damage was minimal, and since those incidents, the specimen had been put under 24-hour surveillance.

Hojo watched his latest prize be strung back up in the mako, watching the brief moment of panic that always happened when the mako entered its lungs. It tried to fight it but there was nothing the specimen could do. The sedation settled it soon enough.

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn! You actually read chapter two :D thank you!  
> I'd like to dedicate this entire nonsense to Criminal Minds. I definitely should not watch a show about serial killers! They always give me nightmares! XD anyways! Leave your kudos and comments if you have any!


	3. One Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gods is hojo creepy

It was another night shift alone in the laboratory, nearing a year since the subject had initially been brought into the lab. Hojo had sent the others away. They only seemed to distract him nowadays. Their constant questions, reminders of human ethics--the entire staff would need to be dealt with at this point. Science did not advance because of caution. It advanced because of bold moves. Either way, they would be checking on Jenova’s progress within the week. He felt a nervous energy well inside of him just thinking about it. This was one of many points that would determine the success or eventual failure of the progress. Luckily, some of the bandages around the specimens head had begun to unravel and to his delight he could already see strands of silver hair swaying amongst the viscous bubbles.

He spent several long hours jotting down notes and flipping through his previous experiment files trying to compile the perfect routine for Specimen Z. Eventually even he began to tire and the words on the page looked more like chicken scratch than letters. Hojo sighed, settling his folder down, and capping his pen. His shoulders felt tight from where he was hunched over, he even considered calling on of the technicians in to fetch him some coffee when he saw the subject kick its legs. Curious, he rolled his chair over so that he could look directly up at the specimen.

“The reports say that your brain activity has been declining recently.” He spoke slowly, letting his words fill the room. He watched, waited, quietly hoping that perhaps there would be some adequate response. Nothing. He huffed, fishing the thick folder from under a stack of books that sat by the mako chamber. “Your file says that you were reprimanded often as a cadet for your inability to sit still. It must be difficult for you to be trapped immobile like this. Your body simply isn’t used to immobility. Although, few people are.” He chuckled to himself, looking down at the file. When he looked up the second time he saw movement, the body shuddering a little bit. As of yet they didn’t need to chain him. But there would come a time when the specimen was less sedated and he would fight against the greatness happening to him. For now, it was vital that the Jenova cells take route.

“Can you hear me? Perhaps the sedation is too light.” He moved to increase it, stopping when he saw the hand press against the glass. He watched it, wondering what the boy was trying to say. His mouth moved, but nothing sensical came out and Hojo was no lip-reader.

“You can’t speak in there. You’ll only be swallowing more Mako. I hear it tastes quite rancid.” He found his lips quirking to the side when the specimen made a face.

“It has been quite some time since anyone has been privy to my inner monologue. More often than not those around me are too incompetent to understand my brilliance.” He settled back into his seat, finding himself far more relaxed than he’d been in a long time. “You and I crossed paths in Midgar. I kept tabs on all First Class SOLDIERs, but you were the first regular citizen to gain that distinct status so quickly. It was astounding.” The specimen pawed against the glass, long fingernails beginning to carve marks in the glass. It was harmless for now, but still. Hojo sighed almost endearingly, moving to increase the sedation. There was a grunt from inside the tank, a soft whine that resonated even within the liquid. Hojo hesitated, curious more than emotional.

His phone began to vibrate in his pocket distracting him from his dilemma. He frowned, pulling the stupid square from his pocket and glaring at the number that blinked back at him. He declined the call but it popped back up just as quickly.

“What?!” He snapped, teeth bared at nothing at all.

“Doctor Hojo.” The smarmy voice of one Turk replied back, just as sharp. “Where are you.”

“Busy. What do you want.” He growled, his free hand drumming on the metal table, glancing anxiously back at the chamber. This call as distracting from his duty, from his purpose.

“You have missed several meetings with the Vice President over the past four days.” The Turk stated, voice devoid of emotion. It almost reminded him of Sephiroth. He had learned that Turks could be trained to be obedient, but Sephiroth was born to be obedient. Born to be ordered around.

But there was something missing. Sephiroth had too much of Lucrecia in him. His eyes widened, not hearing whatever the annoying man was saying. This was the key! There was something missing with Sephiroth. Something he could never put his finger on. He was a scientist—specializing in Mako related energy conversion and the biological effects of Mako energy. But with Sephiroth, it went beyond the biology. He always was a little cocky, a little brazen. He couldn’t help believing it was Lucrecia’s influence on him. Her genetics made up most of that boy, after all.

And it was clear the process that young Turks went through did not actually cure them of their emotions. His fingers formed claws around the phone recalling the one Turk who had almost been an issue.

Vincent Valentine was another example of a failure.

But if he used both. He was no psychologist, he, in fact, hated in the imperfect science that so many of his coworkers practiced. He glanced at the chamber, hanging up on the noisy Turk.

“You need to be trained.” He whispered reverently. This was the missing piece! He spent years controlling everything about Sephiroth but once he entered adolescence he entered the public eye as the golden goose of Shinra. He couldn’t control Sephiroth to the degree he needed. Childhood is important in psychological adjustment, but adolescence was even more important.

“You should be seventeen years old according to your charts.” He muttered, shaking his head. “You are a little old for this to be a truly clinical experiment, but it should still be effective. I can simply locate the Turks training methods and apply them to the methods I used on Sephiroth when he was young. It could work.” He hummed proudly, watching the specimen pawing quietly at the glass. He clicked his tongue, “I am sure you would like to come out, but you have to wait a little while longer. I need to refine our long term plan to ensure that this will go off without any issues.” Hojo caressed the glass, smiling eerily. It was nearly tender if Hojo could display such emotions. He matched hands with his prisoner, eyes catching the glint of the glowing life source.

“Soon you can come out, little one. Soon.” He promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WooP~ I like writing these shorter chapters. Its kinda fun~ 
> 
> \-- 
> 
> Anyways! Please leave your kudos and comments! I really really love them <3 Hope you liked this too! More creepy to come, but I promise that this is not just me torturing zack XD there is a plot ... somewhere.


	4. Rebellion

Today was the day. After weeks of waiting and several sessions re-injecting Jenova cells into the specimen’s eyes and hair, they would finally see if the project had been successful. Hojo watched the young technicians unravel the Mako-soaked bandages with fervor in his veins. The bandages slipped off him slowly, small speckles of blood dotting the fabric. The hair was undeniably silver, and seemed to wash over the metal table behind it like liquid mercury. The black was not completely erased, but eventually, it would be. A quick trim and the hair of a regular mortal would be gone.

It was beautiful, so beautiful that he found himself dragging his fingers through the knotted hair, beginning to pull apart the snarls that had formed in the months of isolation. Pretty soon those days would be behind them, and they would need to attend to the specimen's physical needs more and more. These moments felt increasingly precious. Soon his creation would be integrated back into Shinra and out of his complete control. It was a sour thought, churning his gut.

He needn't think of that now. Instead, he would focus on the specimen. His face was slowly unraveled, but to his disappointment, there was no grand reveal. The specimen had its eyes shut. He couldn’t help but stare at the still dark lashes that were squeezed shut tight enough to form wrinkles.

“Open up.” He whispered, gently caressing the specimen’s cheek. “Come now, show me your eyes.” The specimen shook its head, face screwing up in what looked like pain. “Lower sedation.” He ordered, glaring at the nervous techs who seemed to vibrate with anxious energy.

As the cocktail of sedatives and pain relievers decreased the specimen began to jerk. It was clear that it was resisting whatever pain it felt, halted tics that ran through atrophied limbs. But it got worse, ragged hisses coming from the specimen's grit teeth. It began to writhe on the table, hands clenching and clawing at the table. It shouldn’t be in this much pain, but Hojo himself was unfamiliar with what happened when Jenova infiltrated the human body. "If you open your eyes then I will allow them to resume the morphine drip." He offered, only to see the shaking specimen shake its head. He remembered distantly that he was dealing with a SOLDIER. EX or not, they were trained to deal with torture. So perhaps the pain would not train this creature.

“Open your eyes,” Hojo ordered, his patience beginning to slip. It didn't respond, hands balled into fists at its sides, focused solely on the shaky breaths it took. Perhaps the specimen couldn’t hear him—perhaps it did not understand him... No, the files indicated that the specimen could understand Midgardian. It responded to audible stimuli before… Hojo moved, stroking the specimen’s cheek without thinking when a soft hand snagged his wrist, twisting it and sending him to the floor. It all seemed to happen in snapshots, the specimen sitting up, unable to keep its balance as it pushed through the technicians, screaming coming from the underlings who were too incompetent to inject it with sedatives.

Hojo put pressure on the injured wrist and found — despite any physical sensation — that it was broken. He growled, looking up to see those eyes, _his eyes_ , finally open. They were the beautiful mako eye of a lab-grown creation, the mirror image of Sephiroth itself. It stole Hojo’s breath. He had been successful.

The injections indeed caused Sephiroth’s pale features and unique eye color. He stood, watching the specimen stumble around the lab dragging its I.V. stand with it. Some underling helped Hojo right himself, but they were a passing dot on his radar. Across from him was Sephiroth reborn. The poor thing could hardly keep itself up, falling over on legs unused to motion, its chest heaving in an attempt to expel the mako. Oh the poor beautiful creature.

“Child…”

“N-not… you’re child…” Hojo’s delusion was shattered with those words, broken eyes looking up at him. “L-l-let me… outta here…” It demanded as if it had any right to make such a request. The blood in Hojo’s body chilled, the beautiful creature turning into just another worthless SOLDIER experiment before his eyes. It was untrained, unruly. A disgusting creature with no concern as to the world about it. Did it want to leave? And go where? This specimen had been the property of Shinra since it was ten and it didn’t even know it.

“Fetch the tranquilizer,” Hojo ordered to the underlings who hovered around him. The creature’s eyes darted to follow the younger scientist but its body wouldn’t allow it to move. Those eyes came to land on the emptied Mako chamber and it sucked in a breath too sudden for its body to compensate. It coughed up more tainted liquid, some of its own blood mixed in, in ragged gasps, turning its face away from its home.

“N-no… You’re not… putting me back in there…”

“You are not leaving this facility, Subject Z.”

“N-name’s Zack Fair.” He hissed back, bearing its teeth which were beginning to show signs of degradation. He would need to add oral hygiene to the subjects regimen of daily treatments. Working for Shinra had taught him that image was everything—Sephiroth was useful, but his image made him marketable. If this subject was to succeed it would need that as well.

“You are Subject Z.” Hojo replied curtly, stepping up to the specimen. “You will behave yourself.”

“Or what…” He grimaced, flashing more teeth. “Gonna… put me in time out?”

“I will put you in a medically induced coma.” He let the words sink in, seeing those slit-like pupils dilate into round saucers. Fear. One thing he enjoyed about this specimen was how emotive it was. Although those emotions would eventually be trained out of it, it was nice to know exactly where he stood. The subject did not want its autonomy taken away-- a valid fear. Unfortunately it would need to learn its place. “You are of greater use awake, but I do not tolerate disobedience and this minor act of rebellion will not go unpunished.” The subject flinched, pushing its body up as if making to stand, but the tremor in its arm was too great and it fell chest first into the pools of Mako it had expelled. Pathetic.

“… p-people will miss me… Th-they’ll be-“ Hojo laughed. Truly laughed at the ridiculousness of the statement.

“No one misses you!” He roared, kneeling down to grind the facts into those too innocent eyes. “You truly believe I would take someone that anyone would expend energy looking for? I believe I still have the article proclaiming your death. Your parents—the ones that sold you to Shinra—have already buried in an empty casket. Your friends all attended!” The subject just stared, eyes turning glossy with tears. Its breathing was unsteady. Hojo caught this all with just a glance, growing curious now. “I did not attend of course, but I heard you were buried next to Sephiroth himself. The Silver General and some no-name First. People cried for a few days but no one truly loved you. The flower girl—it mentioned in your file that you were romantically involved with her, did you know that that was so important as to be recorded in your permanent file? Well never mind—she did not even attend the ceremony. Some Turks and some cadets—those are the only ones left who even remember your name. Who even care! Zack Fair is an empty casket. He is dead and gone. Worthless in the end.” He watched those precious tears run down its face, the specimen shaking in shock. Hojo tutted, nodded as the tranquilizers were fired into the specimen’s rear. It jerked, still looking up.

Hojo leaned in, pinching the subject’s chin and drawing him closer. Close enough to see his eyes vibrating and the way the beautiful turquoise danced amongst his tears.

“No one is looking for Zack Fair, because Zack Fair is dead.” He purred, watching the facts settle into its core.

“no…” it whispered, voice caught in a sob.

“Yes, my child. But do not worry. Where failure dies, greatness pushes forward. Zack Fair may be dead, but you, my son, are born.” He watched sedation claim his specimen, but the look of agony, bitter tears, and pain, was so tender. He watched the technicians lift the specimen up, balancing the malnourished creature in their arms for moments before it was laid on a gurney.

It was the end of a chapter, they could not allow any more attacks like this going forward. Emotions had controlled the specimen but they would not always be there. Chains were tightly secured on its wrists and ankles. The collar was his own personal touch. He sunk the two prongs into the back of the specimen’s neck, watching it shudder for a moment before the mako in its blood began to power the small device.

He grinned, giving the collar a tap to watch the specimen writhe with electricity. It was beautiful, the white hair splayed out, eyes barely visible between the convulsions. Should the creature try and flee, this would act as a GPS. Should it attack, they could make it heel. It had rebelled once, and despite the injury, Hojo silently dared it to strike again. He would teach this specimen its new role in the world, but until those lessons were learned, he had plenty more toys he longed to try out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo~ 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this! :D The time line is a little funky but we're getting to the good stuff now! Dont worry, Zacky has a rescue team coming! But will they be in time... Dun Dun DUNNNNNNN 
> 
> Leave your comments and Kudos!! They really make me smile :D 
> 
> And let me know what you think is gonna happen!


	5. Compliant at last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Teeth torture stuff (not too bad but)

Since Subject Z woke up, it had been nothing but trouble. Every second it spent awake it clawed at it glass cage. The normal sedatives no longer kept it compliant and in a strange way, Hojo felt pride in that. Subject Z now had to be dosed like Sephiroth was on the rare occasion he got out of control. Those moments of sedated peace were getting rare, Subject Z simply wouldn’t calm down.

It started with the clawing, banging, punching—all in a desperate ploy to get itself out. Anger turned its eyes into neon lights, glowing even when all the lights were off in the lab. It was furious but starved as it was, the angry outbursts never lasted very long. Exhaustion would quickly sweep it into an uneasy slumber, body twitching in the liquid. Hojo monitored them well, documenting every last punch that the specimen did before it was forcibly sedated.

At first, Hojo let it have its fun but soon enough the training had to begin. He couldn't allow the specimen to become some spoiled child. Every time the specimen touched the glass, a shock ripped through it. After a month of the shock treatment, the specimen had learned not to touch the glass but began a new tactic.

Hojo arrived early one morning to find the specimen ripping its hair out. Blood mingled with the mako and polluted the pure color. Hojo himself nearly saw red, The specimen was ruining the beautiful hair it had been given. The link to Sephiroth. The greatest physical similarity, the one trait Hojo himself could look at and imagine that it was Sephiroth instead. He shocked the specimen till its heart stopped. It was rage, he didn’t even document the incident, just watched silently as the technicians emptied the tank and managed to restart its heart.

He cuffed it. Cuffs meant for SOLDIERs, the same kind he had used to secure Vincent all those years ago. The specimen woke up with its legs and arms weighted and chained, trapped in a near immobile body. It screamed. And oh… what beautiful noises those were.

Hojo watched the specimen struggle and writhe. And eventually, that too must be corrected. The mako drained and the specimen dragged out and forced onto the metal table. It screamed himself hoarse, cursing Hojo out in Midgardian and then in Gongagan when that stopped working. Hojo didn’t dignify any of its vulgarities with a response. He was fascinated by the change in timbre, the way the voice seemed to crack as if once more the subject was going through puberty. After so many months it was clear it had plateaued in terms of change, it was deeper than before—enough that it wouldn’t match the recordings of Lieutenant fair that occasionally still played in training seminars and on commercials in Midgar.

Now, however, that voice was growing irksome. The vocal cords were strained beyond belief and he couldn’t risk his specimen not coming out perfect. The assistants held his head still as Hojo stuffed some cloth into its mouth. He couldn’t stop the screams without knocking the specimen out and right now that wasn’t in the cards. It struggled against the rag, body heaving as it tried to expel the rag. Simple duck tape held it in place and finally Hojo could enjoy some relative peace.

He had longed to test the healing properties of his latest subject. Sephiroth was his golden goose, but he was raised in Shinra headquarters. He had to follow those pesky ethical guidelines. Now, with only replaceable help he needn’t worry about ethics or morals. Science trumped all. With that in mind, he strapped the subject to his table, placing its arm on an extended table. The metal cuffs were jiggled and jarred until his wrists were bruised and bleeding. He huffed in anger, glaring at the specimen.

He saw the fight in those eyes and took it as a challenge. With clinical rage, he placed a scalpel against the subject’s forearm. He saw the moment when the subject felt the knife, and the flinch of muscles, the huff of its chest. It remained still, something SOLDIER had done right for once. It knew how to minimize pain. Advanced torture resistance. Sephiroth taught it in the past. He pressed the blade until it bit into its skin, slicing with little resistance. The blood was fascinating, tinged purple, smelling of mako. He stood watching, pressing his stopwatch and waiting the painful thirty minutes until the cut had knit itself shut. It was magic.

He felt something twist up his spine, a shiver of curiosity, of surprise. It was rare that he found something truly shocking, but this was an unplanned development. Advanced healing. Was this the product of being injected repeatedly, or perhaps the process of keeping it submerged for months on end. He pushed his fingers against the fresh scar, watching it tense but shoot only a bitter look.

Hojo was a shark with blood in the water. He had created this masterpiece. He had done it. But what were the limits? He grabbed retractors, wedging the subject's mouth open. It kicked on the table, eyes wide and looking around. He did recall the subject had an aversion to dentists. A shame. He grabbed another extractor, wrapping the tool around one of his back molars, and with one violent jerk, the tooth was out leaving the subject gagging and shrieking. The sound was muffled by the rag, increasingly turning red with its blood.

He watched the throbbing hole, shining the surgical lights on it, waiting and watching. Perhaps hours passed, Hojo soon bored by the lack of progress. The entire time the subject was panting out of its nose. It’s noises filled the laboratory. Hojo moved, finally fed up with waiting only to see a gleaming new molar. He took a shark breath, eyes widening. He couldn’t believe it. An entire new tooth.

It was so starkly white against his rotten yellowing teeth. He laughed, tugging the teeth out one after another. The subject could only last so long before its eyes were watering, the breathing turned ragged. It took hours but soon the subject had a new set of teeth. Fresh and pearly—like a child’s. During that time, he held, cataloged, and examined each degraded tooth. There was a chip in one of its front teeth. He wondered what childish misadventure had led to such a permanent reminder. By the time all of its teeth were healed the specimen was dazed, eyes empty, and focused on something in the distance. Hojo stroked its cheek, touching the grim reminder of a past battle.

“Will you stop fighting your fate, now? This is your new reality.” He crooned almost, waiting until the subject looked at him. Those beautiful mako eyes connecting finally. “This pain is pushing you to greatness.” The subject, perhaps too dazed to comprehend, or maybe finally giving up, nodded its consent. Hojo grinned, stepping back, watching as it was suspended back into its pod. He walked up, placing his hand against the clawed class.

“That’s my boy.” He whispered when the weakened hand reached up and met his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a struggle to write.... everything had been happening all at once over here so please please if you like what you read leave a comment. They really do help me push through the funk. It means a lot. 
> 
> Hopefully I can move on from the torture soon. I enjoy it personally but I am ready for the story to progress....
> 
> Sincerely, an exhausted author...

**Author's Note:**

> I always seem to end up writing torture fics. 
> 
> But I really like the concept behind this one so please leave comments and kudos if you feel so inclined!


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